


What Happens in Pyeongchang

by neomeruru



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Consensual Sex, F/M, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: There's a certain well-kept secret among skaters at the Olympics. When Yuuri wins his first gold, he learns just how the skating community celebrates its new Olympic champion.Tags, pairings, and rating to be updated as new content is added!





	

**Author's Note:**

> buckle up, friends, because I'm writing the group sex prompt of my dreams
> 
> ~~I'm hoping to add more chapters to this at a rate of about one a week or so, as the inspiration to Wreck Yuuri strikes. Everyone wants a piece of Yuuri, I'm just here to drive the van.~~
> 
> Mmmmmmn, I laid the trap, but the muse didn't show up as planned. Maybe continued later, maybe not - sorry for any disappointment. Thanks for reading anyway. :)

Yuuri's life is broken into two parts: everything up to now, and everything that's going to come after. The point of demarcation is now, sitting in the kiss and cry at the Pyeongchang 2018 Olympics, squinting astigmatically into the bright starburst halo of the scoreboard as the rink erupts into a roar that blocks out even the noise of his own hammering heart.

He skated brilliantly, and Victor is crying - he can't see the score, but Victor is _crying_. If he squints, he can just see the red and white of the Japanese flag nestled right up at the top of the scoreboard, pushing down two Russian ones and knocking Kazakhstan off entirely.

The next long seconds are a deafening blur. Victor kisses him, salt-wet, his hands on Yuuri's cheeks as the ring on his fourth finger — a wedding band, properly — digs into Yuuri's cheekbone. Yuuri closes his eyes as flashbulbs go off all around, a thousand shimmering constellations rippling through the stands, committing it to public memory.

Victor's _congratulations_ is something he feels more than hears, pressed into his mouth like a love letter goes from palm to palm.

Yuuri's won Olympic gold, the first figure skater from Japan to do so.

He's blinking, dazed, when Victor pulls away, angling Yuuri with an arm around his shoulder so they can look into the broadcast camera together. Yuuri fixes his eyes on the blinking red light and summons a smile and a wave, not realizing until just then as the tears roll down his cheeks that he's crying as well.

Victor holds up his hand, crooked into a curve, and Yuuri mirrors it with his other hand to complete the heart for the camera. The camera operator gives them a thumb-up and Yuuri feels a laugh well up inside of him, until he and Victor are both giggling. Victor's lips are on his cheek, his hand on his shoulder, steadying.

He'll remember the next fifteen minutes in snapshots: the receiving line of sponsors and officials, the journalists trying to catch his first unguarded comments on his win, the drug testers waiting patiently with their little plastic cups, bow after bow after bow. Below the rink and away from the cameras, Phichit screams at him and that's the start of it, a flood of friends and competitors clapping him on the back, hugging him, kissing his cheek. Victor's hand is a steady weight low on his back as Christophe lays a noisy kiss right on the corner of Yuuri's mouth.

"I was cheering for you," Chris says, and Yuuri doesn't have time to consider the conspiracy of _that_ statement before he's ushered back out the rink doors and into the blinding wall of noise and spotlight to skate his victory lap.

====

Victor takes his hand across the gap between the seats in the athlete transport van. They would have walked, as they do at regional competitions, but the Olympic Village isn't exactly a hotel across the street. And the crowds; the crowds. The world is thirsty for a look at him.

He squeezes Victor's hand and breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" Victor asks, carefully nonchalant. Yuuri appreciates the simple conversation; he appreciates even more that Victor, in all his easy silver beauty, would think to ask.

"The medal ceremony?" Yuuri says. "Yes, I think so."

Victor's answer is a soft snort, a shake of his head as he smiles out the window. "No, _zolotse_ , the party. Would you rather do something else? Only you and me?"

Yuuri tilts his head at Victor, who turns to look at him. "They won't be upset, if you don't want to go," Victor continues. "It's not mandatory."

"Oh," Yuuri says, just as his phone makes an unobtrusive ding from the chest pocket of his Team Japan windbreaker. He fishes it out with his other hand. "I want to go. It'll be fun."

 _hey is it okay if mila and sara come tonight_ , reads the text message. Another comes in while Yuuri is reading: _just wanted to make sure xoxo_

Victor makes a questioning noise, and Yuuri starts typing out _yeah no problem_ with one thumb. "Chris," he says, by way of answering. The question of why Chris would even have to _ask_ slides out of his mind, pushed out by the mechanical precision required to type with his non-dominant hand in a moving car.

"Oh, good," Victor replies, turning his eyes back to the window. He strokes Yuuri's palm with his thumb as the van lapses into silence, broken only by Korean news radio playing softly in the front seat.

 _i know some of the guys on the Swiss hurling team, what do you think?_ reads the next text, then the next one, quickly: _**curling_

 _sure, why not_ , Yuuri answers, and looks out the window as the city slides past.

====

With the medal ceremony not happening until the evening, there's more than enough time to retreat and regroup back at one of their rooms in the Olympic Village. Representing different countries, they actually have two rooms between them for the first time in three years. Victor's is a little more convenient, but not by much, and literally no one looks even a little scandalized about the fact that Yuuri just never put his bags in the one assigned to him.

It is, after all, the Olympics.

Yuuri showers, mindful of tomorrow's bruise blossoming red across his hip. Tomorrow it will be purple; today, it's only an ache, hot to the touch. He'd fallen on the quad flip, which is another thing he'll dwell on tomorrow, but for now he's still almost in a daze. He skates his fingers around the outside edges, then presses in right over the core of it. The pain is dull and grounding, an old friend.

He wipes steam from the mirror and looks at himself, running a hand through his hair. It's longer now, almost to his shoulders, and had come in thick once Yuuri committed to growing it out for the more androgynous routines he prefers. Reporters have taken to asking him whether he's channelling Victor's iconic style. _I wonder if they'll stop asking, now that we're_ both _Olympic gold medallists_ , Yuuri thinks, and the little thrill that races through his heart at the idle thought makes him smile.

He walks into the room still naked, finding Victor lying facedown on the bed much the same as he left him, scrolling through his phone. "You have to stretch," Yuuri reminds him, sitting down in the narrow diagonal space left by his body.

Victor tucks his phone to the side and rolls just enough to sling one arm over Yuuri's naked thighs, pressing his nose to Yuuri's hip. "Yes, _lyubov moya_ ," he says, tickling Yuuri with his lips, and then, when Yuuri laughs, " _...radost moya, lapushka, solnyshko_ ," punctuating each endearment with a kiss that climbs up Yuuri's side until Victor's pushed him down on the bed as well.

"My champion," Victor murmurs, pinning him between his arms as he presses the last kiss to Yuuri's lips. "I'm so proud of you. My last Olympics, and I couldn't be happier to spend it under you."

"Victor," Yuuri giggles, feeling his cheeks heat up.

"On the podium, I mean," Victor demurs, nuzzling Yuuri under the ear where his hair curls wildly from the shower, his smile soft against Yuuri's skin. Of a mind, their limbs entwine and their lips meet, kissing lazily in a moment that stretches golden in Yuuri's mind for much longer. There's no hurry, no need to speak anything other than the familiar shared language of their kisses.

Eventually, Victor lays his head against Yuuri's shoulder, a pause writ in the quiet between their bodies. Yuuri strokes his hand along the narrow strip of skin revealed where Victor's team shirt rides up. "What is it?" he asks.

"I think I'll wait," Victor replies, tucking his head into the cradle of Yuuri's shoulder. "There's no need to tire ourselves out so early."

Yuuri hums, turning to kiss Victor's hairline right where it's starting to thin. "Oh, okay," he says, taking a steadying breath, and Victor's arms tighten around his middle. "We should go soon, right? Are you going to shower?"

"Yes," Victor sighs, pulling away from Yuuri with great reluctance. "Do you want me to do your hair and make-up after?"

Yuuri twists a lock of hair around his finger. "Yes, please," he says, and Victor leans in one more time to kiss him, tender and deep.

"Of course," Victor says, and pulls away to slip off the bed. He doesn't bother to go to the bathroom to undress, pulling his shirt off with two hands over the shoulders. Yuuri props himself up on his elbow to admire the expanse of muscle revealed, and Victor notices, runs a hand through his hair and poses like he doesn't.

"I don't want to say I expected one of us to win," Victor says, coy as he pulls the drawstring of his sweatpants, and Yuuri snorts at the blatant lie, "...but I did pack a few things. Why don't you go through my suitcase and get anything you want to take tonight?"

Yuuri nods, distracted as Victor's sweatpants fall away from his body. Victor blows him a kiss and saunters to the bathroom, and Yuuri falls back on the bed on a happy exhale. He resists the urge to check his email, knowing Victor doesn't take long in the shower, and flips over to rummage through the suitcase on the other side of the bed.

He knows what he expects to find — Victor's suit, a thousand iterations of Team Russia's Olympic gear, the latest Clive Cussler novel Victor had been semi-ironically reading on the plane — and he does find those, but something else he finds is a black drawstring bag that clunks in a very particular way when Yuuri picks it up.

"Huh," he mutters, pulling the drawstring to confirm. Inside is all manner of familiar implements: nylon rope, thick padding-lined cuffs, a soft flannel sash. The clunk at the bottom is the heavy weight of a stainless steel plug with a ring at the base, the feeling of which Yuuri remembers rather intimately.

Whatever else is in the bag, Yuuri doesn't see; he drops it back into the suitcase and pushes himself back on the bed, hopping off when he reaches the other side. His hands fly to his cheeks, which feel like the surface of the sun. He turns on his heel and stalks into the bathroom, where Victor is purposefully dawdling, leaning against the counter while the shower runs.

"Victor," Yuuri says.

Victor's smile is genuine, and very pleased with itself. "Yuuri," he purrs.

"Victor, there are _sex toys_ in your suitcase," Yuuri hisses, though even through his embarrassment he can feel the smile threatening to split his face. It must take the sting out of his reaction, because Victor only opens his arms and laughs, beckoning Yuuri into the circle of his hug.

"I have been waiting for that reaction for _eight days_ ," Victor all but sings. Yuuri thumps his forehead against Victor's bare chest and sighs.

"You're a pervert," he mutters, and Victor's laugh rumbles through his skull.

"You'd think so, but I only brought _your_ favorite things," Victor says, and lays a big sloppy kiss on Yuuri's temple, the only place he can reach. "I am a pervert's extremely happy husband."

Yuuri groans and wipes his head on Victor's chest, and Victor only huffs and holds him more tightly. The space between their naked bodies is tacky with steam forming from the heat of the shower, a welcome warmth after days at the ice rink.

"Ah," Yuuri starts, "Is it because… you want me to wear it tonight? On the podium?"

"That's certainly an idea," Victor concedes. His fingers run down Yuuri's back, tracing idle lines in the condensation there. "It would make it easier later, don't you think?"

A hundred brazen thoughts skitter through Yuuri's mind, escaping down his spine to coalesce between his legs."Oh," he says, "You want to… at the party?"

Victor's laughter is a warm rumble in his chest, under Yuuri's ear. "That _is_ the plan, yes."

" _Pervert_ ," Yuuri repeats, fondly, and Victor's still laughing when he goes up on his tiptoes to kiss his smile.

"Go on," Victor says, turning Yuuri so he faces the bathroom door and scooting him forward with a pat on the butt. "Go pick out what you want to take. And pack all the free condoms from the room, too."

That makes Yuuri pause, his hand on the doorframe as he looks back at Victor over his shoulder. "Really?" he says, slowly.

Victor shrugs, the line of his shoulder artful. "You know Chris. He's probably used at least half of the ones they gave him already."

Yuuri turns to face his whole body toward Victor. "No, I mean — that makes sense — I didn't think it was going to be that kind of party?"

Hair falls into Victor's eye as he tilts his head, and Victor shoves it out of his face. "The kind of party where… everyone uses protection? Yuuri," he says, crossing his arms again. "I'll make sure everyone uses a condom. I won't let anyone near you without one. The only thing you need to worry about is enjoying yourself."

Confusion wars with the dawning realization that, not for the first time in their lives, Victor and Yuuri have been privy to entirely different conversations. He squints at Victor, watching the exact moment Victor makes the same realization.

Victor's hand goes to his mouth. "You don't know about the gold medal party," he says, horrified.

"Nope," Yuuri says, "But let me guess."

"But I _told_ you about Sochi," Victor groans through his fingers. " _And_ the Canadian mens hockey team."

" _I thought that was just a Victor thing_!" Yuuri exclaims, weaving his fingers together.

"The _entire_ team? Wow, my Yuuri thinks very highly of me," Victor croons, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You were a sex symbol!" Yuuri practically shouts, "Of course everyone wanted you!"

"Oh, Yuuri, you'd be surprised how many people think the same about you right now," Victor says. Yuuri can hear his smile, hidden behind his hand.

Naked and standing in a hastily constructed dormitory bathroom in Korea, Yuuri feels wholly unprepared for this conversation. "Does this happen _every time_?" he despairs.

Victor drops his hands from his mouth, and yes, there is the smile. "Only for as long as Olympic figure skaters have been young, beautiful, and far away from home," he says, laughing. "I'm _so sorry_ , Yuuri, I honestly thought you knew. Usually, you're invited to one of these things _before_ you win your own gold. You're so incredible, I forget sometimes that this is your first time."

Yuuri groans and puts his hands in his hair.

"Yuuri, baby," Victor says, his accent drawing out the foreign endearment into something new and warm. He crosses the bathroom in a few steps and puts his arms around Yuuri, pulling him against his chest. "You don't have to. I can call Chris and he'll take care of it."

Victor crooks his finger under Yuuri's chin and tilts his head so Yuuri has to look him in the eyes. "We can stay in tonight. A private party, you and me. There's nothing else I'd rather do more."

"Except go to a party where the entire ice sporting world pulls a train on your husband," Yuuri mutters, feeling his face go hot again.

Victor smiles. "I know you didn't learn that phrase in Japanese."

"I went to college," Yuuri scowls.

Victor leans down to kiss Yuuri until the scowl transubstantiates into something softer. "I love that story," he murmurs into the corner of Yuuri's mouth. "Go on and get dressed. I'll tell Chris to call it off when I'm done my shower, okay?"

Yuuri nods, crossing his arms over the curl of unease in his stomach. "What were you going to do if you had won?" he asks quietly.

Victor's smile is wistful. "See if I still know anyone who plays hockey," he says, laughing when Yuuri pushes his chest lightly. "And probably ended up having this very same conversation with you, from a different direction."

"I wouldn't have minded," Yuuri grouses. He feels his fingernails dig crescents into the flesh of his palm. "I… I like hearing about Sochi."

"Oh, is that right?" Victor says, resting his forehead against Yuuri's. "I was — I am — glad you won, though. Sochi was one of the most incredible experiences of my life, and I was looking forward to sharing it with you. But I don't care if we go or not, because the most important thing is that _you_ have a good time tonight."

Yuuri feels that settle between his ribs, and it doesn't feel uncomfortable there.

"Okay," he says, for lack of anything else to say. "Go have your shower."

====

 _that's definitely a yes on the curling team, by the way_ , Yuuri types into his phone, listening to the steady hum of the shower as he sits cross-legged on the bed.

 _yessssssssssssssssssssssss_ , Chris types back, _good call_

Yuuri's thumbs hover over the screen. He had felt nervous when he sat down, but it's different, now: something warmer, something darker. It grows deep in the core of him, pushing aside everything else. He types.

_do you know any hockey players?_

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Audience participation time! There's about a billion possible iterations of the scenario in my head, so I wanna hear what YOU wanna see! Who comes to the Pull a Train on Katsuki Yuuri 2k18 party? What do they do to him? What other toys did Victor sneak through Korean customs? _Does Chris know any hockey players?_~~
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com), where I also post art and stuff!


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